


Leave Out All the Rest

by DeborahShay



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Stucky - Fandom
Genre: Fanfiction, M/M, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7074379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeborahShay/pseuds/DeborahShay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been two weeks since the “accident”, or that was the official ruling in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t; Bucky had been a criminal in their eyes. They both were. So in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t have mattered if they were dead or alive, as long as they were no longer liabilities to S.H.I.E.L.D.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Out All the Rest

**Author's Note:**

> I eventually plan to elaborate on this, hopefully how Steve deals with the grief?

            It had been two weeks, and Bucky’s scent still lingered in Steve’s nose. It was made up of motor oil and sweat and musk and just _Bucky_ , and Steve thought he was either going to cry or set the city he was in aflame. Maybe both.

            It had been two weeks since the “accident”, or that was the official ruling in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered if it wasn’t; Bucky had been a criminal in their eyes. They both were. So in the grand scheme of things, it wouldn’t have mattered if they were dead or alive, as long as they were no longer liabilities to S.H.I.E.L.D.

            It had been two weeks since Tony murdered Bucky.

            Steve still remembered the look in Tony’s eyes as reality had set in, all color draining from the billionaire’s face as he watched the fugitive take his last breath. Bucky’s head had been cradled in Steve’s arms as he begged him to cling to life; “Bucky please, no, oh God, please listen to my voice, please stay with me! ‘Till the end of the line, right, Buck? You can’t do this to me!”

            The last thing Steve remembered before one of Tony’s ‘Stark Industries’ helicopters picked them up was feeling the dead weight of Bucky’s lifeless body in his arms, with Tony right behind them repeating a mantra of “so sorry, I’m so sorry” in a voice barely above a whisper. Steve could’ve cared less.

            By the time they had gotten Bucky medical attention, there was nothing that could have been done. He had been long gone, and the damage was irreparable, even for a “super soldier”. Tony had given him one last speechless look, his golden eyes holding a semblance of sympathy for the Captain before Steve had disappeared.

            There was no service, Bucky had never wanted one. “Life should be celebrated, not mourned,” Steve always remembered the brunette saying. Death was always common talk during the War, though Steve never wanted to think about it. He always considered it morbid.

            After Bucky was cremated, Steve had scattered his ashes over the lake that he and Bucky had spent their summers on as kids. He had always been so much smaller than Bucky, always sunburned so easily. Meanwhile Bucky’s skin just turned this beautiful golden color, and Steve always thought it so unfair.

            The last thing Tony did for Steve after Bucky’s cremation was give him the keys to the apartment Bucky had been hiding out in; the man owed Steve that much. So many days had passed where Steve went right up to the apartment door, but couldn’t get himself to open it. That made it real. That would mean Bucky was really gone.

            It had been two weeks exactly to the day that Bucky stared up at Steve with a mixture of terror, sadness, and worry in his eyes before they glazed over. So he refused to freeze up or turn back as he stepped into the low-rent apartment, the wooden floor creaking under the weight of his boots.

            Bucky hadn’t owned much. A couple of clothes were scattered here and there, a make-shift bed on the dusty couch. The blonde carefully stepped over to it and sat down, holding the raggedy blanket in his hands. It still smelled like him, and Steve had to fight back the urge to break down on the spot.

            He forced himself up and over to the small wooden desk in the corner, pulling the drawers open. Scattered maps laid lazily folded and crumpled, but amidst all of it was a worn composition book with the word “memories” sloppily etched over the title. Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he traced each letter with his finger, hoping to God Bucky wouldn’t hate him in the afterlife for invading his privacy.

            After settling on the couch under Bucky’s blanket, he flipped the cover over to reveal the first page. It wasn’t written in your typical diary format, but more of haphazardly-written notes to himself. Steve felt like he was right there with his best friend as he remembered his mother’s name, red lipstick and his kink for it, his love for boxing, and his first kiss.

            Steve felt his cheeks grow warm at Bucky’s recollection of losing his virginity. Steve remembered this story well; her name was Macy Malone, a cute redhead Bucky had met when he was sixteen. One date between them and Bucky couldn’t shut up the next day. Steve felt oddly jealous, but not of Bucky…of the girl. Back then, he figured he was just scared of losing his best friend, so he did what he did best with his feelings and bottled it up in the back of his mind.

            This journal gave him no time to recover as he flipped to the next page. His heartbeat sped up and a thin layer of sweat covered his skin as Bucky recollected the first kiss the two had shared.

_They were fifteen years old, and Steve had been scared shitless to get in trouble as Bucky stole a bottle of rum out of his dad’s liquor cabinet. After half an hour of begging and “don’t be a pussy, c’mon”, Bucky had Steve taking swigs out of the bottle. He coughed and gagged—this stuff tasted horrible—but managed to keep it down._

_“Who was your first kiss?” Bucky had asked him, slurring his words a bit._

_Steve felt his ears turn red, glancing at the boy lying next to him. A barely audible “no one, yet” was his response._

_Bucky chuckled. “Seriously, who?”_

_When Steve never answered, Bucky’s face turned to one of surprise. “You’re serious.”_

_“Go ahead, laugh,” Steve sighed, mentally preparing for the ridicule, when Bucky was suddenly hovering over him._

_Before he could get out a word, warm, soft lips were blanketing his own. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut as he gently wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck. It was over too soon as the brunette pulled back, returning to his original position and lying on the floor next to Steve._

_“There,” he started. “You’ve had your first kiss.”_

            Before he knew it, a smile was slowly stretching across his cheeks, something Steve never expected to happen so soon. The heavy feeling in his gut had yet to leave though, or the urge to choke when the other man’s name was mentioned or thought of. But somehow Steve knew the empty feeling in his chest would never leave, he’d just get used to it over time. He didn’t know if he could live with that.

            The blonde felt his stomach flip when he read the first words of the next page; “I remember the first time we fucked.”

            No names were needed; Steve knew this one was about him…Because he remembered it too.

            _They weren’t drunk, but it was two minutes past Steve’s eighteenth birthday. It had been Bucky’s idea to go to the local pub, because “we need to get you a girl, Stevie”. Steve had already wanted the night to be done with, but he’d entertain Bucky a bit longer. That was until he saw the man in the corner with his tongue down some girl’s throat. It was his birthday and no girl would look at the skinny asthmatic, but they’d jump for his best friend._

_He was fuming as he stormed outside, slamming the door shut behind him. Not even five minutes later while he was watching the fireworks go off, he heard footsteps running up behind him._

_“What’s the matter, Stevie? It’s your birthday—“ Bucky didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence before Steve was cutting him off._

_“Exactly! It’s my birthday, Buck, and no girl in her right mind is gonna hook up with a ninety-pound asthmatic virgin!”_

_Bucky’s face dropped at those words as he crowded closer into Steve’s space. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”_

_“Why not? It’s true,” Steve huffed, his eyes focused on the ground below him._

_Bucky’s hands quickly covered Steve’s cheeks, forcing the smaller boy to meet his gaze. “You literally have no fuckin’ clue how gorgeous you are, do you?”_

_Steve opened his mouth as if to argue, but his words were quickly replaced with Bucky’s tongue. The blonde’s arms made their way around Bucky’s neck as the taller man pinned him against the wall, sliding a knee between the thinner boy’s thighs. An unexpected whimper escaped his lips before he could fight it, earning a smirk from Bucky._

_“Don’t be a dick,” Steve spat out breathlessly, shoving his hands underneath Bucky’s shirt._

_“You love me, Rogers,” Bucky left open-mouthed kisses down Steve’s neck. “But this can’t happen here, gonna take you home with me.”_

_Steve felt like he was gonna explode, still rutting against Bucky’s knee. “Better fuckin’ hurry, Barnes.”_

_“Don’t worry,” The other man started between kisses. “Gonna take care of you, take care of my Stevie.”_

            Steve bit his lip at the memory. Back then, they’d agreed it was just sex, like friends with benefits. Oh God, if they could’ve seen themselves now. They had the kind of love most people prayed to the Heavens for, the kind Steve would tear the stars down to have back. God, he wanted his Bucky back. Tears blurred his vision as he turned to the last page. Bucky’s sloppy writing filled each line.

            “Oh God, I remember everything. Every boxing practice, every kiss, every kill. I remember every humid summer and spring carnival. I remember chili dogs and drunken Fourth-of-Julys.

            I remember Steve.

            I remember sneaking out almost every night to see him. I remember hiding every kiss from the other soldiers, from the public. I remember every sweaty night, staying up to see dawn. How could I ever forget my Stevie? That little punk that never walked away from a fight? What have I become? God, how could he ever love me now?

            If I never see him again, I hope he remembers. I hope he remembers us, I hope he remembers everything. I hope he remembers what I was, not what I’ve become. I hope he remembers sneaking into each other’s bunks, not caring if we got caught.

            I hope he remembers how much I love him.”

            Clutching the notebook to his chest, Steve began sobbing, the ache in his chest unbearable. Gripping the book with white knuckles, he coughed. “I remember, Bucky,” he whispered. “I remember.”


End file.
